Northern Star
by Ausare
Summary: Why are Pokemon so fundamentally different from us? The truth is too terrible to comprehend, and it is up to a small group of people who share an unusual gift to save us from it.
1. Discovery

**Welcome, dear readers.**

**So begins what should be a pretty epic story. This chapter is heavy on pseudoscience; it's just a setup. Most of the story will be scifi-action-adventure-thriller, with some romance in there, and some of those dirty scenes you all come here for. Look out for gun violence, people and Pokemon maiming and/or killing each other, fist violence, space travel, and a reasonable amount of sex - oral, vaginal, and the dreaded anal. I'm not putting anything in the summary before I actually get some scenes in there, but likely for the future are: Anal, Oral, M/F, F/F, NC, and Beast.**

**To wrap up this stupidly long author's note, I'm largely inspired to get off my ass and write something by Skyler's work Equilibrium. I've been keeping track of his stuff forever - I'm pretty sure I was the first one who ever reviewed "One Week" on ffnet, or "What Could Happen in Ten Days?" as it was called back in the day. So here's the first thing I've written in a good long time. Enjoy.**

Professor Cypress squinted into the lights of the convention hall. The large room was lit for television, as certain stations had sent journalists and TV crews to cover the Kanto Pokemon Conference. It was a rare trainer that actually attended the academic lectures - they preferred the exhibits on new Pokeballs, Blocks, training methods and the like. As it was, Cypress was speaking mainly to Gym Leaders and other Pokemon Professors, among them all eight Kanto leaders and the four head Professors of the local landmasses.

It was a tough crowd to speak to, as Cypress was younger than most of the attendees and less accredited. In science, the youthful often disprove the long-held beliefs of the elders, and in the field of Pokemon, one that demanded passion and zeal, polemic theory was rarely well-received, no matter how true it was. The findings that Cypress had come to present were so astonishing that as he stood in the harsh glare of the lights and his peers, he suddenly felt like a man on the verge of suicide. He fully believed his findings, and he also believed the explanation he had produced, but his own conviction might crush him. If those gathered saw him as wrong, or possibly unhinged, no one would ever take him seriously again. He considered leaving the podium and fleeing, but what good would it do?

_I've already jumped off the cliff, _he thought. _Might as well ride it in with as much dignity as I can._

He took a long drink of the thoughtfully-provided water on the podium, and began his fateful speech: "Honored guests," _dammit, should have said distinguished! _"thank you for coming today. I consider myself lucky to have the chance to work with people like yourselves, people who are dedicated to Pokemon, and to seeking out all the knowledge these amazing creatures have to offer us. There has long been an urge in some people to learn, and to discover. I am honored to count myself among you." _Enough with this, let's get going._

"As you all know, computing technology has advanced astronomically over the course of our own lives. That these computers were developed at the same time as DNA theory is, I think, an incredible stroke of luck, as it has lead to the find I have come to deliver to you today. Eleven years ago, when Weedle's genome was first mapped, it proved that it could be done. Seven years ago, when Silph developed sequencers capable of quickly mapping DNA changes between Pokemon evolution forms, it proved that it could be done fast. And three years ago, when the human genome was mapped, it proved that we were fundamentally similar to Pokemon on a basic biological level - for those of you who have tried, you have found that Pokemon food, while disgusting, can provide nutrition to humans too." Here, there was a light laugh, as everyone recalled the case of the lost group of hikers who survived on Mt. Moon for over a month on nothing but Pokemon food.

"Well, in those last three years I have conducted research into finding just how far removed we are from Pokemon, and what our origins are. I started out of graduate school with a question constantly nagging my mind - what is the difference between a Pokemon and a human? Humans can eat Pokemeal, but we can't use Pokeballs. We breathe air and drink water, just like them, but the citric acid cycles that power our bodies are fundamentally different from the alpha-amylase enzyme action that powers theirs. Why is it that for all their similarities, they are so fundamentally different? What caused the split in evolutionary lines, and why did it happen?" The atmosphere in the room abruptly changed from one of relaxed hearing to nervous, intent listening. The question on everyone's mind seemed to be 'Where the hell is he going with this?'

_Here it comes, _thought Cypress. _The bombshell. _"As you will see on the diagram behind me, the latest computations find a 38 percent similarity between our genome and that of Kadabra, our closest genetic relative on this planet. That sounds fine - until you note that the genetic difference between Kadabra and Sableye, the Pokemon most genetically different from Kadabra, is eight percent. To restate, we bear a 38 percent similarity to our closest Pokemon relative, while Kadabra bears a 92 percent similarity to its farthest evolutionary divulgence."

Never since the announcement of the first Pokeball had a room in the Conference been so utterly thunderstruck. Mouths hung open, hands trembled. If this was true, then...

Old Professor Oak recovered first. "B...but how do you explain the fact that they breathe air, have binocular vision, use similar communication methods and similar body language and..."

"Convergent evolution," replied Cypress, and though it didn't seem possible, he shocked the audience even more than he had already. "Evolution, when faced with the same problems in two different places, comes up with similar solutions."

Professor Rowan was next. "So how far removed do you think we really are?"

"Well..." _Here it comes, _thought Cypress. _The nail in my career's casket. There's no way they'll buy this. I don't even know if I believe it._ "I... Understand, this is, I recognize, just a hypothesis. Er, not even, more of a general idea...An imagining..."

"Well?" Rowan barked.

"I no longer believe Pokemon and humans evolved alongside each other. Short of a massive isolation and migration event..."

"So Pokemon are...aliens, like Deoxys?" came Oak's voice. He didn't sound caustic, like Rowan. Cypress allowed himself a moment of hope.

"No, sir. Humanity is the alien species."

Cypress allowed a full ten seconds for that to sink in before continuing. "We just don't fit into any ecosystem found here. We never have. There are only fourteen species of plant we can eat. All of them are domesticated, and no wild examples can be found anywhere. The Oran berry generates lysine and cyanocobalamin, even though it has no biological reason to, almost as though it was engineered that way. According to an archaeologist friend of mine, the oldest signs of human habitation are less than three thousand years old, and the most ancient dig sites include patterns in the dirt strikingly similar to those made by self-propelled agricultural equipment. Evidence of current Pokemon species dates back beyond thirty million years in the case of some species. Primitive forms of Gyarados, Feraligatr and Sharpedo may have existed over 150 million years ago."

They hadn't run him right out of the hall yet, so he allowed himself another ray of hope before finishing. "We have long known that there is something strange about humanity. Something unnatural. In the days of old, it was thought that the great Arceus had simply made humanity his chosen species. I have come forward to offer an explanation based in science, and in truth. Thank you for your time."

He stepped down, and the halogen lights were shut off, to be replaced by far more tame ones. As his eyes recovered, he saw that an intimidatingly large group was bustling toward him. At the front were Birch, Rowan, and Oak, followed by the Gym Leaders Sabrina, Koga, Misty, and Lieutenant Surge. Behind them were Lorelei and Lance, members of the local Elite Four, as well as Wattson and Norman from Hoenn.

"I don't think I'll hop on your bandwagon, boy," Rowan snapped as he approached. "You've got a lot to learn about publishing. You don't wait for the biggest audience you can get before hawking that rubbish." He turned on his heel and stormed away.

Oak was next. "Inappropriate though his attitude is, Rowan has a point, son. Something this big should be printed first. You risk looking like you're just trying to get attention by waiting till now."

"I understand, sir," said Cypress, "but what do you think? Do you think I might be right?"

"I would have to see some more proof, but...you make a compelling argument. I think you may have started something bigger than yourself, though."

"Yes," Lance chimed in, "Arceanism preaches that human are different from Pokemon because of divinity, but without more hard evidence, your idea may become...religious in nature."

"How do you mean?" Cypress asked, feeling worried.

"Remember the big fight a few years ago about Pokemon evolution?" started Koga. "How the scientific faction believed evolution was a natural life cycle, while the Arcean faction believed it was an earned blessing conferred by the Lord?"

"Until it was unequivocally proven, the strife was terrible. Johto almost went to war with Hoenn over it," Professor Birch said. "People get touchy when you delve into things they consider sacred. They don't like having blessed things pieced apart like that."

"I just don't get it," sighed Cypress.

"Well, imagine being in love, and having someone come along and explain the exact biological impetus that made you love that person. Imagine if someone told you it was just a combination of hormones and body language, and nothing special or magical."

"That would be disappointing, I guess."

"Well, there you go. Those people feel as though we're attacking them directly by shedding light on special, wondrous events like Pokemon evolution. They don't understand that those things are just as special to us - just special in a different way."

"Precisely," said Sabrina. "And that simple misunderstanding can have terrible consequences."

Cypress did not understand what Sabrina had meant until the next morning, when the death threats started arriving.


	2. The Chosen Janitor

In the opening of this chapter, I was trying to spiritually recreate that scene in The Fifth Element when you're introduced to Bruce Willis' character. I love that scene - it's a nod to the fact that no matter how mundane or fantastic the surroundings, people are always the same.

Now, prepare yourself. This chapter begins a story arc that will blow your shit off.

* * *

With a shrieking wail, Marcus Ranek's alarm clock spoke up. From beneath the quilt came a large hand that grasped the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the nightstand, and then slammed the clock as an afterthought. The hand dragged the smokes underneath the blanket and vanished. A moment later, the hand reemerged, tapping the power button on the stereo system. The sounds of big band brass, drums, and woodwind filled the small bedroom at the same time the first ray of dawn found its way through the damaged blinds. Dawn revealed a cluttered, small room, featuring a personal computer on a desk, television, stereo, and bed. These items took up most of the small room's space, with the rest devoted to dirty clothes and various books, writing implements, notebooks, and other student detritus. As the song ended and another began, a young man with swarthy skin, a strong jaw, a shadow of a beard and long, messy black hair sat up, the cigarette in his mouth already lit. With a grumble, the twenty year old slid out of the bed and shuffled to the apartment's bathroom.

Shaving took enough time to let him finish the smoke, and from there he continued with the sequence: shower, toothbrush, face wash, and deodorant. His own feet carried the oblivious Ranek back to the bedroom to clothe himself with the heavy work pants and padded shirt of the working caste, then to the apartment's third and final room to retrieve coffee from the machine that had begun brewing when it heard the shower running, then it was out the door and down the stairs which opened right onto the Grand Walkway.

Ranek's dual occupations were College Student and Imperial Palace Level One Staff, and he would be exercising the second occupation today. After a half-mile walk to the quickline station, he took his seat on the mag-rail and set off toward his workplace at nearly one thousand miles per hour. After a forty-five second trip, he had arrived at the dispersal hub inside the Imperial Palace. It was a shame, he sometimes thought, that the mag-rail had to go directly into the massive building. It was a hell of a sight from the outside, seventy stories tall and over 150 acres across the base, every bit covered with synthetic diamond that made it glimmer like fire in the sun.

He stepped out of the uncrowded vehicle right onto another one, which brought him to the area he worked in, and then immediately onto a high-speed elevator which brought him to the third floor. He grimaced slightly at the identification tag clipped to his chest. Ranek, Marcus. Staff, Level One. Caste: Toiler. Janitorial Services, Hall of Justice, East Wing, Third Floor.

Shoveler, Shit.

He wondered sometimes why the tag was necessary. Most of the workers in the building were psychics; they knew not only who he was but what he was thinking as well. The East Wing was part of the hall of Praetor Justis Gaius Culexus, the Lord of Law. Activities that resulted in court cases were rare, and so all court cases in the world were heard at the Palace. Many psychics worked there as seers, delving into people's minds to recover memories and see through lies. He passed one on the way to the janitorial briefing room, a slender old man with lank white hair wearing the dark red robes all the psychics wore.

"Good day, Marcus Ranek," he said quietly. "The future is now."

"Good morning, and I disagree," said Marcus offhandedly, "the future, by definition, hasn't happened yet."

"I mean your personal future," the old man said, fixing Marcus with an odd stare. "The break to the monotony is nigh. Your development is complete, but as the nest collapses around you, will you fly? Or will you fall? Never has a path been so unclear to me." Suddenly, the odd look on his face was replaced with a wide, bright smile, and his voice grew loud and cheery. "Have a good time of it, though! Feed your love, and fight your hate! Have a good day!" With that, the old man walked with surprising speed and purpose down the corridor and out of sight.

Marcus shook his head. The old man had been one of the more coherent ones. Many of them were so weighed upon with visions that they had trouble managing normal tasks. Sometimes, they would become confused and wander off, and all Palace staff had undergone training on how to deal with a disoriented psychic. The few that could manifest their powers in reality could be extremely dangerous unsupervised. As he collected his polish kit from the janitor's headquarters, dully greeting his coworkers, he thought back on his previous encounters.

They all had advice. And they were always right. Marcus had once been preparing to leave for home when a panicked little boy in red robes accosted him at the mag-rail station, begging him to stop everyone from getting on the train. Marcus relayed the message slightly before the Custodes arrived, having been sent by the Emperor personally to prevent the train from leaving. As it happened, there was a faulty capacitor in a nearby segment of track which could have easily dropped the train right off its tracks and killed everyone inside. These foresights were applied all across the Imperium, and saved countless lives.

Each run-in with a psychic turned up some new bit of wisdom: "Pop quiz on derivatives tomorrow," "She's cheating on you," "Don't order takeout tonight," "Carry a handkerchief the day after tomorrow."

It really makes this shit worthwhile, thought Marcus, as he knelt down to clean and shine the six-inch space between a statue of the thirty-first Praetor Justis and the wall.

Of course, there was the fact that working hard was all the Emperor asked of his people. The amount of currency one had available was a factor of how much work you did, the criticality of your work, your societal rank, and how many hours you did it for. The economy was an incomprehensibly vast system, with a Praetor dedicated to its management. Any citizen that wished could become privy to its workings, with years of dedication and study. The average person simply reacted to it just as they did to all other things: they trusted that if they did their part, the Emperor would do his, and all would be well. And so it was, and so it had been, since the dawn of time.

While the average man enjoyed a brief span of about 160 years, the Emperor was immortal, eternal, and immutable. Verbal traditions insisted that he had been around forever, and Marcus had no reason to doubt them, having seen the Emperor twice with his own eyes. Some said he was a god, others that he was the chosen of the gods, others that he was merely a great man. No one was certain what the extent of his powers were beyond immortality and the mysterious ability to just make the Gaian Imperium work.

Strangely enough, the Imperium had very few laws, and few behaviors were illegal. No man could kill another except in a sanctioned duel. Formal education was mandatory and lasted from ages three to twenty-five. Each person was limited to two children, though the two children could be begotten or borne by different partners. Marriage was not mandatory, or even necessarily encouraged. The Custodes, the Emperor's police, required permission from both the Praetor Justis or one of his deputies and a council of psychics before they could enter a home without permission. The rights of each citizen were spelled out in the Writ of Rights of the Codex Imperialis, the book of all codified law. The text of the Writ was stamped into a gold plate and affixed to the outside of every government building. Most citizens could recite the entire text. The orders of the Writ were to be infringed upon by no man, not even the Emperor himself.

Sometimes it felt strange that the system worked at all. They were all told that though human rights made a government free and good, it was ultimately the will of the Almighty Emperor that held it all together. Was he really free in a world that demanded absolute, unswerving obedience to someone he didn't even know? He paused in his musings to look at the floor beneath him. He must have been polishing the same spot for several minutes now, because he could clearly see his reflection, and that of someone else looking over his shoulder.

He jumped up, startled, and whipped around to find a psychic standing behind him. Emperor's teeth, they moved like cats. He put her at five feet seven, with very fair skin, smooth black hair, and icy blue eyes. Age was usually hard to measure with psychics because they all dressed alike, but a barely noticeable pimple at the very edge of her hairline betrayed her youth, while the noticeable curves in her garment made it clear she was nearly a grown woman. She had a closed but friendly smile. In another situation, he would find her friendliness endearing, but Marcus saw a white armband and began fighting panic. White armbands were worn by the Primaris - the most powerful psychics - and she was almost certainly too young to fully control her powers. He glanced around quickly, and his stomach began filling with dread when he saw that the corridor was empty. She was lost, and he would have to take her back to the main hall, several hallways over.

They picked up on fear and hostility far more acutely than a normal human, and they were easily frightened. He recalled Step One of the training course. He took a deep breath and immediately recalled the happiest memory he could - his first time riding in a flying machine. Slightly calmed, he spoke.

"Are you lost, young miss?" he said gently - Step Two of the training course. She shook her head. Swallowing, he smiled as calmly and naturally as he could. "You mean you are where you want to be?" She nodded, and reached out to hold his face in both hands. He was at a total loss, so he decided to just try to relax and roll with it. Marcus found his heart pounding as she drew herself up to him and snaked her arms around his neck. Her expression softened and her eyes closed halfway.

Oh, shit. "Look, we need to-" His words were cut off by her soft, red lips. _Kiss me, _a whisper in the back of his mind said. _Stop thinking about it and kiss me._

He gave up and obliged - he didn't seem to have much choice - and responded to the kiss in earnest. She eased her tongue into his mouth, and he responded by taking her in his arms, grasping her full hips and pulling her into him. She massaged his tongue with her own, and ran her hand through his hair while resting the other on his shoulder. The kiss was far and away the best Marcus had ever experienced - this girl seemed practiced.

_I've only practiced on other girls,_ he heard the whisper in his mind again, and an erection began coming on strongly. She ran a hand along his crotch teasingly, and suddenly broke away from him. As Marcus looked on in confusion, the young woman pranced to the door at the end of the hall and opened the door. She beckoned him with one slim finger, and closed the door as she moved though. It never occurred to Marcus not to follow.

He ran through the doorway to catch the merest glimpse of the girl winking at him from a side hall before vanishing again. Through another door he went, to catch her blowing a kiss before vanishing again. On and on he chased her, losing track of time and progressing out of his territory. He glanced at a hanging clock; he had been chasing her for an hour and he had not seen a single soul. Some part of him knew he was being toyed with, but he was now intensely curious - was the psychic herself playing a game, or was there something else going on here?

At last! He burst through a set of doors into a cavernous, empty courtroom and found his rogue psychic had only just entered. He ran her down near the jurors' seats, grabbed her around the waist and picked her up bodily, eliciting a shriek of delight and a peal of laughter.

"What's the big idea, huh? I've been chasing you around for an hour, I've got shit to polish!" He feigned anger, but he was smiling widely.

So was she. She wrapped her arms around him again and held him close, but this time it was a friendly, trusting hug. She rested her head against his chest. "It gets frustrating sometimes. I have to sit in here all day and close my eyes and try to see when people are going to die, or when people are lying, or the like. Sometimes, I have to shake it up, you know?"

"You scared the shit out of me. Twice. I thought you were one of the unstable ones."

"Yeah, well, it was funny. And you're a great kisser, by the way." They looked into each other's eyes for some time, just enjoying the company.

She rested her head on his chest again, facing toward the juror's area, and began shaking slightly.

"You okay?" Marcus said.

The psychic slid out of his arms and knelt with one hand on the floor, face down, pointed toward the juror's stand.

You've got to be fucking with me, Marcus thought, and suddenly he was far more intimidated than he had been when he had thought his new friend was insane.

He turned slowly, and standing so regally that he seemed to emit his own light was the Emperor of Mankind, the seven foot tall, statuesque Lord of Lords himself. He fixed Marcus with a direct stare, and Marcus felt as though he might heat up and explode on the spot.

"Asenath, rise." came his words, which seemed to echo in the air with their own weight. "I shall forgive you, Marcus. It is not every day that a man is caught off guard by me. I must say, someone other than the Praetors meeting my eye is refreshing." As Marcus gradually recovered, he noticed Praetor Culexus standing next to the Emperor. Marcus had heard tell that Culexus was not the most cheery man, but the furious stare he had fixed on Marcus was nothing short of terrifying.

"Ranek" came his commanding bark, the voice that through its sheer power had forced men to confess. "I see that while neglecting your work, you took the time to become acquianted with my daughter."

"It was my fault, Papa..." Asenath started, but Culexus raised a hand to silence her.

"I know. I know what happened. I know the extent of your necking. I see it all, in my mind. I wish I did not. As it is, Ranek, I suppose I cannot find grounds to punish you, as you were following protocol the entire time - except for the kissing," he grated. "Of course, I seem to remember once being caught in the throes of youth myself." He turned to the Emperor. "I must ask again, my Lord, are you certain? I was hoping for someone wiser."

"Wisdom can be instilled, but daring and intrepidity are inborn. He is the right one." At the confused look on Marcus' face, the Emperor turned and spoke to him. "Forgive us, young son. As you can imagine, we were not here by accident, nor were we here to bear audience to your canoodling. There is a desperately important job to be done, and I am quite certain you are the only one who can do it. Your services will also be necessary, Asenath. Come hither, young ones. Perhaps the good Praetor would prefer you to sit slightly apart."


	3. Cookie

This chapter largely explains what's going on - the chapter after this completes the picture of what's happening on Ranek's end.

* * *

"How many planets are there in the solar system, Ranek?" Praetor Culexus said.

"Whuh?" Marcus had been staring at the Emperor, lost in thought. When you got over the shock of seeing the Emperor Himself, it turned out he was a very average-looking man, if significantly on the tall side. Bald, dark eyed, square jawed... you could almost say that the same features on anyone else would make them look nondescript.

"Ranek!" Culexus snapped, clicking his gloved fingers. "How many planets?"

"Oh, er, fourteen," he replied.

The Emperor smiled benignly. "Asenath, do you agree?"

"Yes, lord," Asenath said meekly. She had been blushing heavily ever since the two rulers had confronted them.

"Time to let you in on the secret," the Emperor said in his calm, deep, airline-pilot voice. "There are over twenty planets in our solar system."

Marcus stared. The Emperor of Man had personally confronted him to spin bullshit? Was he dreaming?

"Even if my word were not absolute truth and law," the Emperor said, a little sternly, "I would not tell you things that were not true. Perhaps I will withold things; if I do, it is for your welfare."

"Do you doubt the word of your Emperor, Ranek?" Culexus said, his gaze boring into Marcus.

"Uh, no, I mean, I do, but..." Ranek sputtered.

"How many planets are in the solar system, Ranek!?"

"Over twenty, my lord!"

The Emperor raised a hand, and Marcus and Culexus fell silent. "You will not need proof, Marcus. I am going to send you and Asenath to one of them. You see, the Imperium's capacity for space flight goes far beyond the mining colony on our planet's moon. We have been traveling to distant planets for over three hundred years.

"Long ago, when I discovered that I could see the future, I dedicated myself to using my power to prevent catastrophe, and to guide my people in peace and prosperity. When I discovered that my power was not unique, I set about training others to carry on, in the event I was killed. As the net of psychic power grew larger and clearer, some psychics began to have visions of things that weren't happening here on Gaia. I wondered if perhaps their visions were of the past, or of the incomprehensibly distant future, but I was at a loss.

"At about the same time, I ordered the construction and launch of several probes to investigate our local space area. At that point, we knew that the psychic activity here on Gaia was inhibiting our ability to stargaze. To view things as near as our own solar system, we had to use deep-space telescopes, free from the psychic interference of our planet. When the probes began to report back, we realized that there were localized areas of blankness in orbit around our sun. The probes would pass near a zone that no energy could be detected through, like a black hole. They were like huge shadows, drifting in orbit around the sun. The astrophysicists determined that the areas were not black holes by studying the gravitation of the solar system as a whole. I decided to send a group of probes directly at the zones, to find out what happened."

"What happened?"

"Before they burned up, we received sporadic images of liquid water oceans, white clouds, and green landmasses."

"What does it all mean?"

"Well, the astrophysicists had an idea when the data was received. It was a good, logical one. But I had an idea of my own, and I was right. You see, psychic activity does not just block the view out. It blocks the view in, as well." The Emperor produced a remote control from his robes, and used it to activate the courtroom's viewscreen.

On the viewscreen there appeared a video feed from a slowly rotating camera. The camera had been mounted at a strange angle in some sort of dense, brightly colored jungle brush. There was no sound.

As the camera panned, it slowly turned on one of the strangest things Marcus had ever seen. It was like some kind of ambulatory plant, like a huge, yellow eggplant with eyes that watched the camera warily and a visible toothed mouth at the top of its body. The large, broad leaves growing from its trunk swayed slowly in tune with the leaves from normal plants around it. As Marcus watched, the plant-thing slowly crept towards the camera. Just as the camera was about to pan away, the creature struck with alarming speed. It produced vine-like appendages from nowhere and grabbed the camera, pulling it into its mouth. There was some static, and then blackness.

Marcus gaped. "What in the name of the Emperor's left nut... sorry lord," he said hastily. Beside him, Asenath seemed deeply and profoundly unnerved.

"What do you think of it?" the Emperor asked, as though he had shown them a pet fish. "That video feed was from a probe that actually touched down on one of the planets. It was able to get out those few seconds of footage before its signal booster ran out of power."

"I hope you liked it," Culexus cut in, "because you get to meet it. The locals call it Victreebel."

"Are you telling me that thing lives in our solar system? That's a fucking alien! I don't want to go anywhere near it! Wait, the locals? What do you mean by locals?"

"Actually, it's not an alien," said the Emperor. "It was on that planet before humanity was."

"Humanity?" Marcus almost shouted.

"Yes, children," the Emperor said, "humanity inhabits that planet, and several others. And they need your help, though they don't know it."

Asenath looked sick. "Daddy, you're going to make me go there?"

"You will not set foot there," said Culexus. "However, you will be accompanying Ranek in the ship, and you will be needed to monitor him from above."

"The ship?"

"The _Northern Star_," the Emperor said contentedly.

* * *

Professor Cypress looked through the mirrored glass into the interview room. Inside, his good friend Dana Redwood was talking to Celia.

Celia was many things. When Cypress looked at her, he saw a well developed female Kirlia, demonstrating high responsiveness, full formation of the "skirt" structure, and healthy formation of the parietal fins that adorned her head - markers a Breeder would find highly pleasing. However, her behavior belied problems. Every minute or so, Dana would ask her a question that would cause her to bristle - her claws would extend and the fins on her head would darken. When she was not agitated, she would assume an unusually demure stance, staring at the floor and trembling slightly. The Ralts family was normally a touchy, skittish one, but this one was too much so. This one had been hurt.

Cypress had read enough of Dana's previous publications to know how.

Dana Redwood's field of study was one that was, like a train wreck, darkly fascinating. She performed psychological studies on Pokemon that had been victims of physical or sexual abuse by their Trainers. Her shocking study on physical abuse in stage-one Fighting-types had revealed a troubling truth - Pokemon abuse was vastly more common than had been thought. Her studies of Fighting-types suggested that as many as _seventy percent _of all Human-trained Pokemon had suffered maltreatment in various forms. The most common kinds of maltreatment involved ignorance. Many Trainers failed to realize that owning a Pokemon meant making it part of your family. They felt the need for love and attention as acutely as any human - in the case of some species, more so - and many Pokemon simply didn't receive it. The so-called "Pokemon masters," people who attempted to catch one of every species, were the worst offenders. This was far from the worst kind of maltreatment, though. Normal and Electric-types were at increased risk for physical violence. Some Normal-types like Meowth usually abandoned their Trainers after being beaten, but they were one of the few species that could. Most instinctively saw their Trainers as family members, and refused to leave, even if it resulted in death...or worse. It had been known for thousands of years that Dark and Psychic-types were unusually vulnerable to Trainer sexual abuse. It had been thought for centuries that Psychic-types, along with Dark-types, were capable of bewitching their owners into mating. Only a hundred years ago was it recognized that the increased frequency of sexual abuse in these types was mainly because the superstition allowed rapists to get away with their crimes by claiming witchery. Unfortunately, the superstition had held fast into the Age of Reason, and there were still Pokemon rape cases that went unreported because the local clergy took the law into their own hands. In turn, Dana studied these happenings, because understanding them was the only way to prevent them.

"Weird, huh?" Dana's voice shook him from his thoughts. He turned to see that she had appeared next to him.

"How'd it go?"

"Not much progress. Minerva's taking her back to her quarters, I've told her to spend some time with her." Minerva was another abuse victim, a Gardevoir that was confiscated by the police and scheduled to be put to death under Hoenn's draconian stray urban Pokemon laws before Dana had adopted her and brought her back to Kanto two years previously. Minerva worked as Dana's lab assistant, reading minds and translating Pokemon speech. She had been taught how to speak telepathically before Dana adopted her; Dana had told Cypress that she wished she knew how it was done. Minerva, unfortunately, refused to give details of her earlier life.

'You'd never think Ralts is so rare, the way everyone seems to have one,' thought Cypress. 'Maybe it's because I see them all here. Maybe this kind of thing crosses the mind of every male Trainer who has one. They're certainly pretty creatures.'

"How long have you had her?" Cypress asked casually as the two headed back to the laboratory's break room. Dana had worked late again, and the building was empty save for the security guards on the first floor. The sleep observation crew wouldn't be arriving for a couple hours. His heart began beating a little faster.

"Two weeks," Dana said as they arrived inside the break room under the pretense of retrieving Dana's things from her locker. Perhaps it wasn't exactly pretense - she would take things from her locker - but that wasn't all she would do. "Trainer's out on bail, and she knows it, so we can't get her to go outside. She's been having trouble with paranoia, seems to think the Trainer will be around to grab her. She insists that he's close, but that's a pretty normal delusion following trauma." Suddenly, with breathtaking ferocity, she turned to him and shoved him forcibly onto a low, torn couch. "But I don't want to talk shop right now," she said in a husky whisper, and began unbuttoning his pants.

This was almost routine, but never boring. Dying evening light shone through the window, lighting up her shoulder-length red hair as she undid his belt. The extreme frequency of their sexual encounters belied a deep emotional connection and a very complicated relationship. They were, as it was said, on and off. They would try dating for a while, then give up after a month when things got weird. They had met at age thirteen, and the thirteen years since then had seen them in this position - and many others - countless times. They had both tried being together, they had both tried being apart. Twice, they had even talked about marriage. Cypress loved her deeply, possibly more than anyone in the world, but something just didn't fit when they were dating - each other, or other people. Every effort to break the status quo, it seemed, was futile.

'Perhaps,' Cypress thought as Dana's head descended on his crotch, 'I don't want it to change.'

Things were simple this way. Be friends with benefits. Whatever. But in his heart, Cypress sometimes wished it would change. Sometimes he wished it would finally just swing one way or the other. He was afraid, though, that if things did change, it might mean Dana had found someone who could take her mind off him.

And as Dana hitched her skirt and mounted him, he mused that this had never felt as natural with anyone else. Perhaps it was just the closeness of their relationship, but Cypress felt as though he would never find anyone quite like her. Their encounters were natural and intimate. Cypress felt that though he had had sex with other women, he had only ever made love to one.

He grabbed her waist and held tightly, encouraging her thrusts. She let go of him and began squeezing her own ample breasts, tossing her head back and moaning softly. After ten or so minutes of this, she undid her blouse and unclasped her bra, returning her hands to his shoulders.

"Unh...Dominic...please..." At her behest, he took her nipple in his mouth and began a pattern of bites and licks that he knew would set off her final countdown. She responded by leaning forward to bite his shoulder and neck in a way that would finish him. He surfaced momentarily for air and almost shouted with surprise - his eyes had locked with Minerva's large red ones, peeking at him from the slightly open door.

'How the hell long has she been there?' Cypress thought in shock. He received another shock when he noticed that Minerva's right hand was hidden under the front of her dress, while her left was clutching the door frame. 'Is this...voyeurism?' Cypress thought in wonder. 'Is she doing what I think she's doing?' He wanted to admonish her, to stop her, but his intellectual core would not let him. The part of his heart that demanded answers to everything, the part that made him a true scientist, demanded that he use the opportunity to investigate her behavior. He felt his face heat up. There was another part of him, one he did not discuss, that wanted her to watch. That part of him wanted to taunt her, to make her want it too... Between the scientist and the savage within him making demands, his ability to consider consequences was thoroughly muffled.

'See anything you like?' Cypress thought as loudly and clearly as he could. There was no response - apparently mental communication didn't work that way.

He changed his method. With his eyes still locked with Minerva's, he lifted Dana's skirt and slapped her ass, creating a resounding crack. Dana gave a high gasp of pleasure; Minerva's breath hitched. Dana heard the noise and began to turn around, but Cypress stopped her just in time with a deep kiss. 'You love this, don't you, you pervert?' he thought, a crazed grin breaking across his face.

He was about to blow. He had to try one more thing, quickly. Still maintaining his stare, he leaned forward and sharply bit Dana's neck. This time Dana made enough noise to muffle Minerva's sharp gasp. Minerva's face was now quite red, and the twitching of her right wrist was increasing in speed. Time for the big finish. He grabbed her hips and began greatly increasing the already violent pace, shaking Dana to the point where she grabbed him tightly just to hold on. 'Come on,' he thought, staring at Minerva and grinning, 'come for me. You know you want to! I'll get you both off!'

Cypress felt the warning signs of an imminent orgasm, had to stifle a scream of his own when the moment came. He always tried to get Dana off at the same time he came, and tonight he did well - Dana's walls convulsed around him and her back violently arched as she shivered and gasped under the force of her orgasm. Through the haze of satisfaction, Cypress noticed that Minerva had bit her own lip to muffle a cry, and the bit of thigh he could see through the opening in her dress was glistening with fluid.

'I'll be damned,' thought Cypress. 'They're...they're not so different.' As Dana leaned forward to rest for a moment, Cypress realized what had just happened. Minerva had watched them together - and gotten off on it! The implications were enormous. Scientifically, it meant that humans were not unique in certain activities revolving around pleasure. The concept of fetish behavior was not uniquely human! He had to tell a behaviorist!

A behaviorist like Dana.

He was filled with a sinking feeling. If things had been weird before, they were going to be insane now. Dana kept Minerva outside her Pokeball at almost all times. Cypress and Minerva definitely saw a lot of each other. What if she found out? Of course she would have to find out, it could lead to a breakthrough in her studies! But...how was he supposed to tell her?

'Hey, Dana, Minerva was watching us fuck. In fact, she got off to it. And I goaded her on.'

He had watched her do it. He had allowed her...encouraged her...teased her... By Arceus! He had played a game with her just then. He tried to stop his own mind from connecting the dots, but couldn't. He could not honestly tell himself that little game was purely scientific. He had wanted to tease her. At its core, three-player teasing was a game of jealousy. He had wanted Minerva to be jealous. He had wanted Minerva to want him.

He didn't know what was more troubling - the fact that he had wanted Minerva to want him, or the possibility that Minerva might harbor feelings for one or both of them. He wondered how many of their previous encounters she had seen.

"Hey, Dom," Dana muttered contentedly. "I'm starvin'."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "me too."

"Wanna go get some Sinnohan pasta?"

"Pretty specific there."

"Yeah, well, it's what I want."

"No complaints here."

"Alright." Dana extricated herself from Cypress and adjusted her clothes. After a moment of an activity that he did not watch, Dana threw him a box of tissues. He set about cleaning up.

"Yeah... Sinnohan pasta with Oran sauce and Magikarp fillet. That'll hit the spot. And the pasta that looks like little bow ties for Minerva, she loves those!"

As Cypress glanced at the empty door frame, he let himself drift in thought. 'Is there a way for this not to freak anybody out or hurt anyone's feelings? Really,' he mused, 'by "anyone" I mean Dana.'

* * *

"You two are kind of freaking me out."

Cypress looked up from his stuffed pasta. Dana was smiling quizzically; Minerva was staring at her food, her green hair obscuring her face. "Say somethin', already!" Dana kicked him lightly under the booth's table.

"Sorry," he said, "just watching the sun go down." Though the large restaurant-front windows, he had a wide-angle view of the road, and the buildings behind it.

"So you've got x-ray vision now, huh?"

"Been using it on you for years."

Dana blushed slightly, and nudged Minerva. "Can you think of a way to get Dom to say something less stupid?"

"No," was Minerva's terse reply.

"Lighten UP, babe!" Dana began to massage Minerva's shoulders, and Minerva shot upright, blushing heavily. "I know work's tough, but...let's try not to take it home with us."

"Anymore," Cypress said, trying to relax the mood, "home's as rough as work."

"Like hell." Dana leaned across the table, keeping one arm around Minerva. "You just show up every day because you like to use your x-ray vision on us. Right?"

Cypress smiled. "I spend my entire lunch hour peeking in on you two."

"Filthy immigrant," Dana said, smiling widely. Even Minerva smiled a bit, which relaxed him greatly.

Dana Redwood was the only human being to ever call him "filthy immigrant" and still find herself able to walk afterwards. Unfortunately, she was far from the first to try. Cypress came from a family of immigrants from the Sevii Islands, known in Kanto as the Orange Islands. His dark skin, lightly colored hair, protruding, hooked nose, and turquoise eyes set him apart. The government's term for his race was "ethnically Arcean" - the local term for it was "cookie."

Arceanism was the oldest religion in the world, but was followed by fewer than thirty percent of the world's population. The "ethnically Arcean" were the people of the equator, Arceanism's primary constituency. The people of the inhabited northern hemishpere - Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, and a few smallish landmasses - were the "ethnically Jirachian," and the majority of humanity.

It had always escaped Cypress how the two faiths found themselves unable to get along. They both worshiped Arceus as the Lord of Creation, following the tenets of the Old Codices, a collection of ancient texts that were said to be the living word of Arceus. The Jirachians simply thought that Jirachi was the prophet of Arceus, and had a collection of books that they attached to the Old Codices, unimaginatively named the New Codices, supposedly written by Azelf, Mesprit, and Uxie, about the life and works of Jirachi. They practiced what was in effect the same religion. The best guess Cypress had was that the violence was a result of ethnicity rather than religion.

Something about the faiths just failed to sync. The news called feelings between the two faiths, and by extension the two races, "tension." "Burning, vitriolic loathing" would be a bit less of an understatement. Fifty years ago, a spate of terrorist attacks originating from Arcean Islander fundamentalists against the Devon Corporation's offices had resulted in Hoenn's placing of severe economic sanctions against the islands as a whole. Over time, the restrictions were relaxed, but the island economy never truly recovered. The truth was that tourism was popular simply because Seviian currency was so weak that people could vacation there for less than half the cost of vacationing elsewhere.

As it was, after a fifteen-year tourism boom, the Islands were running out of money again. Some gang from Hoenn had disturbed Kyogre three years earlier during the summer, and his activity had caused typhoons that devasted large areas of Sevii. Millions of dollars were lost to the repair of the resorts and casinos that funded Sevii, and the flimsy government could not sustain itself. In addition, Southern Kanto's heavy use of artificial fertilizers had created an area in the Island's sea territory completely devoid of oxygen, and many fish Pokemon had died, critically damaging food production. Seviians were destitute, starving, and furious, and it was in these conditions fundamentalist demagogues thrived. Other Arcean countries looked on in terror - if it happened to Sevii, there was no reason it couldn't happen to them - and talk of preemptive action arose.

On the other side, the Jirachian nations looked on fearfully at the disaster that seemed imminent. They attempted not only to make immigration more difficult, but to also make life for immigrants so hard that they would just go back home. Violence along ethnic lines was becoming troublingly common in urban areas. Some shops would not allow Cypress to enter; others would not allow Dana in, and the owners of these places would always admonish one for consorting with the other.

The truth of the matter was that Cypress did not show up at Dana's office for a booty call. He was there because Grog, his Sableye, was much more powerful than Minerva, and he had been walking the two home for some time. He would have just sent Grog, but Grog frightened Minerva, so Cypress kept him in his ball as much as possible. He hoped he would never have to summon Grog to protect them.

'Nice car,' Cypress thought, looking out the windows at a large purple lowrider passing slowly.

"How's dinner, Nerv?"

"It's...wonderful. I love it when we go here," came Minerva's psychic voice.

"It was so nice of Dom to pay our way, wasn't it?"

"Woah, woman, hold on." Cypress was jerked from his reverie to see Dana grinning wolfishly. Arceus, but he loved that woman.

Minerva laughed. It was always strange to hear her laugh, since her laughter came from her vocal chords, unlike her speaking voice, and the two were slightly different in pitch. It was endearing to hear her laugh, though; she was so damn quiet all the time, it was nice to get a reaction out of her.

Get a reaction out of her.

Cypress twitched, remembering the events of earlier, and took his mind off of it by admiring the rims of a large purple lowrider driving slowly past the restaurant.

'Isn't that the same one from before?' Cypress thought.

The car came to a dead stop.

He barely noticed Minerva had stopped laughing. "Something's wrong," she said abruptly.

Time slowed down for Cypress as the side windows of the car rolled down, and a pair of brown fists clutching machine pistols reached out.

"EVERYONE DOWN, RIGHT NOW!" Cypress shrieked wildly as he dove under the table. He reached up and grabbed Dana and Minerva by their upper garments. He dragged them under the table a split second before it happened.

It might have gone on for a second, or it might have lasted an hour, Cypress wasn't sure. The onslaught was loud and shocking and utterly terrifying. Glass, wood, metal, and people were splintered to pieces, ripped apart by the hail of hateful bullets. Dana was clutching his shirt, Minerva was screaming in her real voice, and Cypress himself wished above all else it would just stop.

As suddenly as it started, it was over. He thought he heard the screech of tires, but it might have been the ringing in his ears. He realized he had somehow leapt on top of the women. He peeked out from behind the booth, and crawled, low and slow, out from cover. After a moment, he stood up, and pulled Dana and Minerva out from their hiding place.

"Are either of you hurt?" Cypress asked, looking them both over. Dana had a frozen look of surprise on her face and Minerva was crying hysterically, but neither had been hit.

"Dana. Dana." He shook her slightly, and she came around. "Call the cops. Tell them to send ambulances. I'm gonna try to stabilize the wounded." She nodded, and Cypress started toward the back of the shop.

Cypress stepped through the door of the kitchen. He suddenly felt sick - the old lady who cooked all the pasta was lying on the floor with two in the gut. Her husband cradled her, stroking her hair. She was unconcious but breathing - he might be able to do something.

"Sir!" The old man looked up at him. "Sir, please step back. I'm a physician, I can help her."

"Get out."

Cypress stopped cold. He had heard the old man speak before, and he did not remember the man's voice being so rough or furious.

"Sir, I told you, I'm a doctor. I can..." Cypress was cut off as the man reached, one handed, under the counter to produce a shotgun. Still cradling his wife, he racked the gun. The room was suddenly silent except for the soft plinking of the ejected shell.

"Arcean scum. Filthy foreigner! Get OUT! GET OUT, YOU FUCKING COOKIE SCUM!" Spit flew from the man's lips, and his face went purple. Cypress slowly backed out of the kitchen door with his hands raised. As the spring-loaded door closed in front of him, he turned around to narrowly duck a wooden chair being wielded by a furious white man.

"Why can't you fucking beach boys just GO HOME!" the man shrieked. "Go home, and murder each other instead of innocent people! I hope you all fucking kill each other off!" The man swung again, but Cypress caught the chair and spun it out of the man's grip.

"There are wounded people here. They are too important for your bullshit. Get out of my way," he said, withdrawing a Pokeball from his pocket and summoning an unusually large Sableye, "or I will let Grog deal with you ."

The man took one look at Grog and stepped aside. Grog was a strange one, a Sableye almost four feet tall and studded with tiny, brightly colored gemstones across his back. The razor-sharp teeth, diamond-hard claws, and eerily lifeless eyes made Sableye an intimidating species. Grog's features were exaggerated as a result of the fastidious care Cypress provided for him, making him downright terrifying to anyone who had not met him.

Grog opened his mouth and issued a hair-raising screech that put all contest beyond question. Cypress was glad for the intimidation factor; Grog has never attacked a human, and Cypress wasn't sure he would be willing to. Without further interruption, he descended upon a little boy who had been crushed under a china cabinet shaken down by the gunfire. He began to sweat, finding no pulse, no respiration, and three broken ribs. Damn, but this would be tricky.

He carefully pressed his foreknuckles against the boy's sternum, compressing the heart without exacerbating the rib damage. After eight thrusts, he attempted to fill the boy's lungs with air.

Nothing.

Eight more thrusts and a breath. Eight and a breath. Eight and a breath. With applied effort, he got the kid's heart beating again, but with no respiration, it would be useless.

"Come on, kid... It's all you now," he muttered. He leaned back to lock eyes again with Minerva, who had drifted over at some point and was now kneeling across from him. Dana stood above her, clutching her face and staring at the child.

Minerva leaned forward and touched her forehead to the boy's, and an unsettling stillness filled the room. It was as though everything had simply stopped.

The boy coughed, and took a long, deep breath.

Cypress realized he hadn't been breathing, either. He exhaled slowly and looked at Minerva, who had sat up across from him. "How did you do that?"

"I just talked to him. I found him in there, and told him that for it to work, he had to really try to breathe. Of course, the damage wasn't that bad, but..." Cypress cut her off with a tight hug.

"Thank you," he muttered, trying to resist tears.

* * *

After they had given their statements to the police, they had been allowed to leave. They walked in a close group, with Grog a few feet ahead, in a beeline for Dana's apartment. Upon arriving, Dana asked if Cypress and Grog would stay the night; they readily agreed. Grog spent the night crawling about in the ceiling, noiselessly keeping watch. Though Cypress did not condone it, Grog would use his ability to phase through walls to inspect other people's rooms for danger. As it was, the knowledge that they had a silent, phase-shifting, unsleeping sentry was still not enough to allow them to sleep. Some time after two, Dana crept into the living room where Cypress was camped on the couch.

"Dom?"

"Yeah."

"Uh..."

Words weren't necessary. Cypress got up and went back to Dana's bed, where she laid her head on his shoulder and curled up.

An hour later, the door of Dana's bedroom opened.

"Dana? Dominic?"

"Yeah," came their voices in unison.

"Er..."

Cypress patted the patch of unused bed on his other side, and Minerva crawled in. She laid her head on his shoulder and curled up.

An hour later, when Dana's obnoxious snores had almost lulled Cypress to sleep, he felt a soft, warm mouth plant a feathery kiss on his cheek.


	4. Your Names Came Up

"You two seem to be taking this well," the Emperor said.

'He's not very perceptive,' thought Ranek. His head was buzzing and he felt slightly ill. Across from him, Culexus was holding both of his daughter's shaking hands. After a few moments, he found his voice again.

"Why are you telling us all this? Why have you hidden it from the people? Why do we have to go there?" Marcus saw stars, and took a deep breath.

"Your blood sugar is low," the Emperor said, as fatherly as ever. "Now, we go to the Sanctum. They have food there, food and answers." The Emperor stood, and with him Ranek, Asenath, and the Lord of Law, and they started toward one of the internal mag-rail stations that serviced the Palace. As they walked, Ranek noticed the way people hit the floor as the Emperor passed by.

'It's good to be king,' he thought wryly.

As the party boarded a mag-rail, the Emperor said "Sanctum" seemingly to the ceiling. The machine must have heard him, because it obeyed the order immediately. The vehicle was quite spacious, seating fifty as most of them did, and Marcus felt strange having it practically to himself. He sat on a bench next to the Emperor, across from Culexus and Asenath. Asenath looked up and smiled slightly at him. He returned the smile.

"Guess I was right about you," he said quietly, trying to joke with her. "So far you've been nothing but trouble." Her smile widened, and he felt a small thrill in his chest.

"You were right about him, milord," Culexus said loudly. "Audacious at best, brazenly idiotic at worst. No wonder Asenath is so interested in him." Asenath blushed deeply and Marcus almost retorted, before remembering he was in the company of the most powerful men to ever live.

"I see you are already practicing restraint," Culexus said. How he hated having that man read his mind! "Good. The people you are about to meet are not the kind who will tolerate your attitude as your infinitely merciful Emperor has. As I resolve problems with justice and foresight, they resolve problems with violence. They will not hesitate to.... adjust your attitude, as it were."

Marcus almost jumped as a small voice invaded his mind - that of the Emperor.

'Do not be afraid, Marcus. He is testing you. The omens have proclaimed that you must face great peril soon, and he is only trying to get you ready. Also, please stop thinking about parts of his daughter that are not her face - he doesn't like that.'

Marcus felt ready to scream. Was everyone in the Sanctum going to be as unmanageable as this group? He felt like a small child being forced to attend an adult's dinner party. What if they were all psychic? Could they all see his inner soul as easily as these people seemed able to?

"Afraid, Ranek?" Culexus said scathingly. "Only my faith in the Emperor's sight allows me to believe you are destined for anything more complicated than polishing statues. Before me sits a boy - barely a man - who allows himself to be overrun by his petty fears!"

"Papa, please," Asenath started. Marcus' mind began to darken, and a curious tingling filled his head.

"When will I be allowed to go home, he wonders! What will become of my things, my friends, my family? My relationships? For how long will I be separated from Asenath?" At this, Asenath's eyes went wide, and her expression softened momentarily. "How much danger am I in? He is on the verge of faltering and he has not even left the ground yet!"

_"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_

The car became so quiet that the whisper of the motor could be heard. For several seconds, Ranek's scream hung thick in the air, and Marcus himself tried to brace himself for what would happen. What did happen, though, was so shocking that no amount of bracing would have mattered.

Culexus smiled. It wasn't a large smile, but it was more that he had ever seen come out of the man's face.

"He did it," Culexus said. "He threw me off."

"I told you," the Emperor said. "I told you he was Northern Star material."

"And I did not doubt you, but..."

"But you had to see for yourself - the quality that makes you such a good Praetor."

Suddenly, the mag-rail's door swished open, and it took a nudge from the Emperor to get Marcus on his feet, so stunned was he from what had happened. They walked out of the vehicle into a cold, dim, gigantic hall with a huge silver symbol in the floor - one of an eagle, with its wings outstretched and flat in a stylized way, clutching a five-point star in its talons.

"This is the Sanctum," the Emperor said unnecessarily. "This is the home of The Northern Star, the society of warriors and mystics that enacts my will beyond our planet." A sliding door silently opened at the far end of the hall, and a moment later they crossed through the portal to find an ornate conference room, with nine people seated at an ovoidal table. At their entrance, the people all took to their feet. He counted three people wearing uniforms similar to those of the Imperial Guardsmen, the defenders of the Palace, though they were different somehow. There were four mystics that, like Asenath, wore red psychic's robes with white Primaris armbands. There were also two elderly women who were dressed in the ornate gloves, boots, robe, cape and mantle that Culexus wore. Marcus realized with a start that the two old women were the other Praetors: Praetor Parcus Dinath Asurmen and Praetor Cura Inaril Aurelius, the Lords of Economy and Administration. Within this room were the four most powerful people to ever live.

"Let us sit," the Emperor said, and they did so. "Next to me, Marcus," he said quietly, and Marcus realized with a strange feeling that he was sitting at the Emperor's right side - a traditional position of great favor. In fact, since it was the Emperor's side he was at, he was literally the most favored person in the world, if he wasn't reading too much into it.

"I hope you did not wait on us to eat," the Emperor said. With a start, Marcus noticed the plate of light tea-time food in front of him, and everyone else at the table.

"Well," came the warbling voice of Praetor Aurelius, "we did not wait on all of you. Just one of you, in fact." The Praetors and psychics shared a laugh; Marcus and the Guardsmen were silent.

"Such a stoic young man you have brought today," Praetor Asurmen said kindly, as though she was going to offer him candy. "I suppose Culexus has intimidated him beyond words?"

"Not at all," the Emperor replied, "he's already managed to push Culexus out of his mind." There was a general nodding from the Guardsmen at this.

"Already, huh?" came a rough, deep voice from the other side of the table. Marcus looked over and saw a tall, powerfully built Guardsman with dark skin and a bald head speaking. "That's good, considering how close we're cutting this one."

"You know we would do better if we could," a psychic with steel-grey hair sitting next to him said.

"I'm not blaming anyone for anything," the Guardsman said, "I'm just saying we've got a lot of work to do. I take it you were being hard on him, Culexus?"

"Absolutely, Eversor," replied the Praetor. "It took some prying, but I got him."

"Eversor, do you care to explain some more of Marcus' situation to him?" the Emperor said with half a sandwich in his hand. Eversor, the bald Guardsman, got the point and spoke.

"Marcus, as you know, a lot of terrible things would happen if it wasn't for the psychics sitting here and seeing it all coming. As you also know, the main job of the police is to run around warning people what's coming. I assume he's told you about the other planets?"

Marcus nodded, having forgotten the gigantic wad of fruit that now hung in his mouth.

"Well, every now and then, a psychic here on Gaia has a vision from one of those worlds. A war breaking out, or a dam breaking, or a catastrophic plague... it's got to be huge for our mystics to pick it up. The bigger the event, the more of our people see it. You with me here?" Marcus nodded and swallowed, and Eversor continued.

"Well, a couple weeks ago, _every single psychic in the world_ picked something up. Every one of them. Something that wasn't going to start on our planet, but that would sure as hell end here. You want to take it from here, Bellatrix?"

The grey-haired lady wiped her mouth with a napkin and spoke. "When we get visions, Marcus, we see not the cause, but the effect. We see hospitals overflowing with the sick, or the wreckage of a mag-rail, or the rubble of a collapsed building. You see, the police are more detectives than anything else. We find out if and when, they find out why.

"Well, seventeen days ago, we all saw what can only be described as the apocalypse. Cities in ruin, billions dead. Life scoured from every rock in our system. We saw it start on one planet, and spread like wildfire to all the others, ending at ours. So far, this has been the most catastrophic and mysterious of any vision that has ever been had, since the Emperor first looked into the future. We know it is the end of all things, but we have no idea how or why."

Marcus gaped. After a moment of absorption, he turned to look at Asenath. "Is it true?" he whispered.

She nodded. "It was horrible, Marcus. Everything..._everything _is going to end."

"No," came Eversor's emphatic voice. "Everything is not going to end, because Northern Star is going to figure out why, and we're going to stop it, just like we always have. But time is critical. Whatever this is, it's supposed to start on Hielodar."

"Hielodar is the planet I showed you two in the video," the Emperor said quietly.

"Something is going to happen on Hielodar, and it's going to trigger all this," said Bellatrix. "All of Northern Star is headed there. Asenath and the rest of us are going to try to pin down more information, and it will help if we're closer to the planet."

"Meanwhile, you, me, and the other marines will be landing to try and get the lay of the land, see if we can't get some information for ourselves," said Eversor.

"And now, I must stop you both," said the Emperor, "for our explanation is still missing a crucial part. Marcus and Asenath must know why they are here, or at least as much as we know to that end." He paused, and pressed on.

"Marcus, tell us about what happened on the train, between you and Culexus."

Marcus felt humbled. He had wanted to put his outburst as far behind him as possible. "Well, Praetor Culexus was... I don't know. He was taunting me, I suppose. He was reading my mind, looking at things that made me uncomfortable. He was looking what made me nervous, and accusing me of cowardice. I didn't like it at all. I didn't like having someone in my head. And then... well, I lost it. I got so frustrated that I lashed out at him, but I'm still not sure how I did it. And then, I'm not sure how I could tell, but I _knew _he wasn't in my head anymore."

"Listen to what you are saying, Marcus," said the Emperor. "Culexus has stood before men whose secrets were locked within the darkest parts of their hearts and crushed their mental barriers with ease. Yet you, a young man with no psychic ability or training, forced him out. That is why you were chosen, Marcus. There is something most unusual about you, a trait that you share with all the Guardsmen in this room, that allows you to fight psychics on a mental level despite having no psychic power. It is not mere discipline or will - it is a power all its own, one that we have little understanding of."

"That doesn't mean I have to be here," Marcus said.

Culexus spoke. "You are missing the point. Every single person born with your power and still living is seated before you, Ranek. There is something about your power that makes you destined to participate in Northern Star. Every one hundred years, one with the power is born, and every one of them is collected by this group. They all play a part, Ranek, and so will you. They all have destinies of great consequence."

Marcus sat silently for a moment. "So, why did I get picked right now? Doesn't it seem strange that I have to get picked only a short time before this apocalypse?"

"Do you not think the same thing crossed our minds?" the Emperor said, and Marcus apologized. "Normally, the members of Northern Star are collected at their two-hundredth birthday. We allow them to live an entire life, then as their death approaches, we harvest them. But unfortunately, your name, and Asenath's, came up."

"Wait..." Marcus said, as he added two and two.

"Yep," said Eversor. "I was the first one, and I'm just past the big five." He turned to a gigantic, red-bearded Guardsman near him. "Haegr here is our newest; that is, besides you. He's two-twenty. In years, of course. I think in pounds he's more like three-fifty."

Haegr grinned widely, first at Marcus, then at Eversor. "I'll thump you for that, old man," he said.

"And Emendi was collected a hundred years after I was," said Eversor, indicating a lean, blond-haired man of medium height and a calm, collected expression.

"Before you speak, Marcus," the Emperor said, cutting Ranek off, "you understand why we cannot make everyone immortal."

"I know, lord, but..."

"It's actually a bit of a curse," Eversor said. "I never believed in Heaven, like some people do, but..." He looked down for a moment, then back at Marcus. "I'd hate to think I'm keeping Diana waiting."

There was a companionable silence for several seconds. After a moment, Marcus noticed something troubling.

"My Emperor, you said this has been going on for how long?"

"Northern Star? For three-hundred twenty years."

Marcus counted the Guardsmen; there were three.

"Aren't we missing someone?"

"Well," Eversor said, "our work isn't exactly safe."

* * *

After the horrific events of the previous night, Cypress had almost forgotten such a mundane thing as work existed. Yet Dana's alarm clock was trumpeting the start of a new day just as the first green glow appeared at the horizon, visible through the drapes.

Getting out of a warm bed took force of will. Getting out of a warm bed after two hours of sleep took more force of will. But trying to get out of the softest, warmest bed he had ever slept in, held tightly by his two favorite girls, took a level of grit that Cypress simply couldn't summon. Dana rolled slightly to strike the snooze button, and rolled back in place. Now they were all awake, silently enjoying each other's company. Cypress lay on his back, with Dana's head on his left shoulder and Minerva's head resting on top of the crook of his right arm. Their arms crossed over his chest, and Cypress had never felt more comfortable and secure in his life. For five golden minutes, it was as though the previous day had never happened.

Then the alarm clock went off again. Dana mumbled sleepily and began to slide out of bed.

"Let's take the day off," Cypress said, stretching.

"Can't. It's important I become a fixture in Celia's life. I told her I would see her today; I gotta see her today. Sorry. Psychology." With that, Dana slumped to the bathroom, and Cypress heard the shower kick on. Dana's tank top and pajama bottoms came carelessly flying out of the doorway to land on the floor. Now it was just him and Minerva.

He felt strangely fluttery, in a way he hadn't in a long time. In his stupor, he tried to get comfortable, but managed to make himself even more fluttery by rolling over in Minerva's direction. He smiled slightly, at once much more comfortable. Then, he became very, very awake when he realized something - he was now holding Minerva securely in both arms, with their faces inches from each other.

Cypress felt a slight numbness in his legs, followed by the euphoric sensation of his mind awash with adrenaline. He stared into her wide open eyes. Few times in his life had the inability to catch his breath felt so good.

Their noses were almost touching. Her lips were slightly parted - she was out of breath too. Her eyes were soft as air, and her head was slightly tilted back. Some part of Cypress' mind noted that for her to expose her delicate white neck indicated absolute trust - and submission.

He felt a funny tingling in his chest, one unrelated to the excitement of the moment. Or was it?

"What the hell are we doing?" he thought.

"I don't know," she responded, and at that moment their minds connected.

It was a powerful feeling, almost as if they were two bodies sharing the same mind. Or perhaps two minds sharing the same brain. Two souls, connected in a most fantastic way. Cypress wondered what it meant.

"This... we shouldn't," thought Minerva. "This is dangerous. We'll cause ourselves all kinds of problems..."

"This is looked upon as unnatural," thought Cypress, "and it would break Dana's heart."

"We have to cut this off," thought Minerva.

But at that moment, the first ray of sunlight broke through a distant cloud bank and came through a gap in the curtain, giving Minerva a shining, golden halo. It was time. They both felt it. No more words.

They were kissing each other and it was like nothing either had ever felt. They sought out each other's mouths like the drowning claw for air, like nothing else mattered but acquiring the other's lips. They became tightly entangled, his arms grasping her, her leg wrapped around him, his hand grasping her hair, her hand clutching his face. Unsatisfied with this level of connection, they let their tongues explore each other's mouths, eliciting soft moans from both of them. Without full awareness of his actions, Cypress rolled on top of her, and her legs parted to wrap around his waist. She rolled her head back and gasped slightly, and Cypress kissed her throat, lightly at first but with increasing vigor until he was sucking and biting her, bringing forth more gasps of pleasure. Her skin was warm and smooth, and carried the barest hint of a curious, almost minty flavor. He could feel with his lips the blood rushing through the arteries just beneath her skin.

With one hand behind her head, he let his other drop to her waist, clutching and enjoying the suppleness of the flesh. He slid his hand still further down to grab her ass and finally her leg, enjoying the small moans he induced. Then, suddenly, they parted.

Her legs stayed tightly wrapped around him, and her hands were abover her head, with Cypress' hands clamped down on her wrists. The dark, animal part of his mind was screaming at him, screaming at him to finish it, to take the next logical step. Through their mental connection, Cypress was surprised to find that he could feel the same voice coming from Minerva's mind, screaming at him to do it, to hold her down and make her his. They locked eyes, and Cypress noticed that never since his first time had such tension been so delectable.

He felt an electric shock jump up his spine. For whatever reason, all boxer shorts in the world seemed to have a slit in the front that allowed the genitals to slip out. He had not noticed that his erect tackle had made it out of his shorts. Minerva had, and she was gyrating her hips to run her lower lips along the base of his shaft. A dribble of precum edged its way out of him, and he knew what had to happen next. He lined his member up with her opening, and Minerva's breath sharply increased.

The shower stopped.

Without having to think about it, they rolled over and threw the quilt back over their bodies just as a toweled Dana emerged from the bathroom.

"Lazy pricks," she said, smiling. "Minerva, get your ass up. Dom, I guess if you want to, you can stay here today."

"Nah," he said, trying not to give away his residual nervousness, "the only thing I've got going today is the Winogradsky columns of the Muk cultures. I'll call and have someone else check on them, then I'll go with you two to work."

"What's with the knight-in-shining-armor routine, huh?" Dana said snarkily. Then her expression softened. "Thanks, Dom."

"Don't thank me, or I might have to stop being nice. I've got a bad reputation to maintain." Dana smiled again, and walked to the dresser, letting the towel fall off her body. As she turned her back on the two, Cypress got to his feet to have his turn at the shower. As he got to the doorway, he turned around and smiled at Dana.

"I'm yours," he said.

"I know," she replied haughtily, then winked at him.

He then turned to Minerva, sitting upright in the bed, bearing such an aggressive look that it frightened him.

"No, Dominic," came her mental voice, fiercer than he had ever heard it. "You are mine."


	5. Just You and Me

Dominic Cypress was having an off day. He, Dana, and Minerva trudged, bounced, and glided, respectively, down the sunlit street, toward Dana's laboratory.

The three cups of coffee had fully absorbed, and he was jittery and tense. Dana was happily chattering away, as if the previous night hadn't happened. He had been through enough with her to know that her bubbly attitude belied the shell-shock from the previous night - he knew she was simply trying to cope. Meanwhile, Minerva was giving him odd stares and she kept trying to grasp his hand, which they both knew was a bad idea in this part of Kanto.

What in the hell is wrong with her? he thought nervously. She's going to get us fucking attacked!

"Minerva," he said quietly, "if you're uncomfortable, I can always call Grog out." Minerva immediately withdrew, shooting him a dirty look. He regretted saying it as soon as it left his mouth, but after trying to catch her eye for a few seconds and being thoroughly ignored, he gave up trying to apologize, at least for the time being.

"Remember that one, Dom?" Dana chirped, startling him. He realized he had been tuning her out for almost the entire walk.

"Oh...yeah," he lied.

"No you don't, I just got done reminding you of the time the space people landed on Third Street. What's up with you, man?"

Your Pokemon has an entirely inappropriate fascination with me, he thought. "Just a little shaken up," he lied again. He was entirely too used to gunfire for his words to be true.

"Yeah, me too," Dana said softly. "Minerva, baby, you holding up?"

Minerva responded with a look that could almost be described as hateful. The look turned to one of surprise when Dana hugged her tightly, setting Dominic on edge once again. The streets were largely deserted at this time of morning, which he didn't like - it was much safer to be part of a crowd. He visually swept the area while clutching the Pokeball in his pocket. Across the street he saw old Morelli, proprietor of a watch shop, cleaning the windows outside his store while his pet Smeargle touched up the shop's sign. Morelli glanced at them, shook his head slightly, and went back about his business. It seemed to Cypress that the older generation was more prejudiced but less active about it - more prejudiced about race, religion, and sexuality. It was the young people who went out and fought the wars. The guys in the low rider were probably younger than him. With a chill, he realized he might have even known their relatives, or worse, been related to them.

Sometimes he truly hated being who he was.

He also hated being followed, and as the trio entered Dana's building and scaled the stairs, Cypress glanced out a window and confirmed his suspicion that a lanky, tow-headed, conservatively dressed man with a light goatee had been following them for some time. The man was now situated across the street from the lab building, looking at it intently. Cypress was about to bring it up when Dana beat him to it.

"Wouldn't be the first time, you know."

"What?"

"That somebody's taken an unhealthy interest in my work," Dana said, smiling sadly as she subconciously ran her thumb along the deep knife scar Cypress knew was beneath her blouse between the sixth and seventh ribs. What a hellish few weeks that had been.

* * *

Dana had been closing things down one evening when a young local man who had been stalking her for weeks entered the building with a hunting knife and murderous intent. The twenty-seven year old was a paranoid schizophrenic living with his devout parents who had subjected him to daily catechisms about the evils of those who consorted too closely with Pokemon - researchers, breeders, and Trainers, while denying him medication for his condition. The man had chosen Dana because she kept a psychic-type companion, because she was a Pokemon researcher, and because she was a woman - a factor that aggravated his paranoia. Minerva was returning from another part of the building and Cypress was still a block away when it happened. The man infiltrated the third floor and caught Dana alone. He stabbed her twice, both times aiming for the heart - his first blow glanced off a rib, but his second struck true. The knife was lodged so deeply in Dana's left lung that the man was still trying to pull it out when Minerva returned. Minerva, upon assessing the situation, fired a ferocious Psybeam that threw the man back twenty feet but didn't kill him as she had intended it to. The man had scrambled to his feet and gone round the corner of the hall by the time Minerva fired her second shot. This one went straight through the wall and flashed across the street over Cypress' head. Cypress immediately summoned Grog and dashed inside and up the stairs, passing right by Dana's attacker as the man ran away. Cypress arrived at the scene of the crime just as Minerva bravely initiated a two-person Teleport to the hospital - a move that could have killed them both, but instead saved Dana's life.

The challenge of the trial was that the court could not decide whether Minerva and Grog's testimonies could be considered admissible. They had both seen the attacker's face, and if their testimony was accepted then it would lead to an easy conviction. However, with just Dana and Cypress' testimony, a conviction would be significantly more difficult. In addition, Minerva had indeed been shooting to kill when she counterattacked, and if her testimony was used it could have lead to a separate inquiry into her mental health, which would put her in grave danger since the death penalty was much more liberally dealt to Pokemon than to people. Ultimately, under the advice of Dana's lawyer, they withdrew Minerva's testimony, and Grog's was declared inadmissible because he was a Dark-type. Dominic's was also thrown out, because of a comment he had made while on the stand. When asked by the defense lawyer if he had a vested interest in the outcome of the trial, he famously remarked, "Acquit him, convict him, I don't care. I have friends on both sides of the fence." True to his word, after Dana's attacker was released and caught lurking around her building less than a week later, Cypress made some phone calls to some cousins from the old country, and the man had vanished without a trace. Dana had felt pity for the man, but Cypress never did. Ever since then he had wondered if it made him abnormal.

* * *

"We should call the cops."

"Yeah, so they can be as helpful as they were last time."

Dana had an ironclad point, but Cypress wasn't ready to simply drop it. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to, Dom. But don't worry, what happened last time won't be happening again."

"I wish... I agree."

"You've never sparred with me, have you?"

"Eh, a couple times when you wanted me to show you how to use a Seviian bolo. Still haven't the slightest idea why you felt the need to make big-ass knives your hobby."

Dana's face became stony, and she pulled a large knife of military manufacture from under her shirt. "If someone wants to knife fight, let them come. I won't lose."

Cypress had no idea how to respond, but his cell phone saved him from having to. He plucked it from his pocket to see his office was calling, probably to find out where he was. He flipped it open.

"Dr. Cypress."

"Professor, it's Aaron, where are you?" came the slightly frantic voice of one of his graduate students. With anyone else, he might have been alarmed at the tone, but Aaron was always bent out of shape over one thing or another.

"I'm on business, I'll be out all day, I'm afraid. I trust-"

"Dr. Cypress, wherever you are, you need to get your head down!"

"What are you on about?"

"Professor, there's a crowd, a mob outside the lab! There's about sixty or seventy people here and they're all screaming for you!"

"Fans, I take it." This was not the first mob to come for his head, and Aaron knew it. What was the problem?

"Well, sir, I know this isn't the first time they've shown up, but this is the first time they've burned shit on the sidewalk."

"So? Send a Squirtle to take care of it."

"Sir, it's furniture."

'Furniture?' he thought. 'Why- oh, fuck me running.'

"Sir, when did you leave your place this morning?"

"I never went home last night. They must have been looking to rouse me."

"Wow. Did you hear about what happened at that seafood place on Fifth Street last night? It was another racial thing - that must be what has them so bent out of shape."

"I know, I was there."

Awe welled in Aaron's voice. "Wow, you're lucky. Or just really hard to kill. Either way, it's serving you well right now. Just keep a low profile, okay?"

"I appreciate the concern, thanks for the call." He snapped the phone shut, and cursed floridly in Seviian.

"What happened?" Dana asked. He grated his teeth and tried to compose himself before answering, but due to lack of sleep couldn't quite manage it.

"I'm fucking homeless, is what happened," he hissed through his teeth. At Dana's confused stare, he carried on: "About seventy people showed up at my apartment this morning and completely trashed the place. Now they're using my shit to make a bonfire on my lab's doorstep." It was probably the same sixty to seventy people who always showed up to protest against Seviians whenever something racial happened. They never seemed to go to the poor neighborhoods where the violence originated, probably because the people there would not think twice about fighting back. But against peaceful immigrants, they were fearless. It was funny to think he was targeted specifically because it wasn't his fault.

"Aw, Dom..." Dana gave him a tight hug, and Minerva followed suit, to Cypress' surprise. Upon considering it, he realized he really needed it.

Though even academics were loath to admit it, the Gardevoir species had an emotional hyperacuity. Little work was done in the field, and the lack of study of Pokemon emotional perception often hampered Dana's work because lack of solid facts in the region left holes in her hypotheses. Cypress was one of the few who knew the score: Gardevoir were simply more capable of emotion than humans, or indeed anything else. They could experience a wider range of emotions and the emotions they felt were far keener and more refined than anything a human could experience. They must look down on our simple emotions, he often thought, the way we look down upon Growlithe. To us, Growlithe is always either happy, angry, or ashamed. To them, our emotions must appear as primitive - and as unworthy of attention.

His introspection was interrupted by Minerva's warm tongue caressing his ear as she drew away. He found it didn't make him as angry as it probably should have, and he assumed it was simply her once again being in emotional control. She greatly intimidated him; her emotions were more acute, meaning she could toy with him to evoke any emotional response she wanted, really. Also, their IQs were approximately level, which was impressive - Gardevoir IQs ran along the same lines as human IQs, and Cypress was considered clinically genius, meaning Minerva was also unusually bright. Finally, there was the psychic power. Cypress was lean, quiet, and wore a lab coat, so no one ever expected him to be as astonishingly strong as he was. A college career spent both studying and unloading trucks had made him who he was. However, no amount of physical strength was of any use if you were being held upside down by your ankle by an invisible force of nature. Of course, she didn't need to subjugate him physically - she could always hypnotize him to do her bidding. While Dana worked to dispel the myth that Psychic-types bewitched people into having relations with them, all she had proven was that it was indeed possible, and normal Psychic-types simply didn't do such things.

Unfortunately, Dana was still unable to ascertain just how normal Minerva was. Dana had spotted that little lick she had given Cypress, and while giving their loved ones little kisses was not unheard of in that species, her indiscretion that morning - they thought she didn't know, those knuckleheads - was indeed out of order. Surely some part of Minerva sticking her tongue down his throat had tipped Cypress off that there was a pack-dominance issue between the three of them. Or was that even it? If Dana had been presented with these facts in a "normal" Gardevoir - that is, one that got an 80% or higher on the Ralts Family Multiphase Psychological Inventory - she would call it pack competition.

It was not unheard of for a Trainer that owned one to get married and find their Gardevoir of either sex treating them much differently. Examinations had determined that it had something to do with competition to become the Trainer's favorite and the co-leader of the group, the alpha animal of the pack, so to speak. They would often see the Trainer's partner providing certain forms of affection such as confidantism and sex, and become resolved that if they too could provide that for the Trainer, they would become the new favorite. Handling a Gardevoir or even a Gallade was very difficult, though the Gallade inherited some Fighting-type pragmatism, making them a little more stable. Not that that made them any less likely to try becoming the co-alpha. Gallade and Lucario were particularly bad about it, though for less emotional and more pragmatic reasons. Lucario had been known to proposition their Trainers or team members simply because it had been too long since their last bit of companionable exercise - it was as though they simply didn't see species barriers. It also suggested that they engaged in sex not for reproduction, but for fun and satisfaction, which was another issue that was psychologically significant but didn't receive the attention it needed. Dana got the same negative attention Cypress did when she tried to suggest that a feeling of strong sexual attraction between certain Pokemon and their Trainers at certain stages of their lives was not only extant, but normal.

Even if Minerva had been normal, it did not mean the matter between the three of them was simple. And Minerva was definitely not normal. She had an abusive past which Dana could not shed light upon despite repeated searches. She knew that Minerva had been abused by her psych evaluation, and they knew it had been a Trainer because she was level 41, which for her age was unheard of in the wild. The police department which had processed the case in Hoenn was quite reluctant to disclose case information to Dana, whom they considered "touched in the head with impure thoughts." Minerva herself was tight-lipped about it, and so Dana had very little to go on, taking the dangerous route of adopting her and living with her to try and heal her.

And it had been dangerous indeed. Minerva was sweet and forthcoming almost all of the time. When she wasn't, people got hurt. She suffered from night terrors, and when Dana tried to wake her she would sometimes lash out, pinning Dana to a wall with her power or simply biting or scratching her. There were times when Dana would lie in bed in a cold sweat with Minerva standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her for hours. She awoke one morning with Minerva curled around her, clutching her breast and hip and licking her neck, quite asleep. Minerva had no memory of whatever had transpired to get her there. And, of course, there was the time Minerva had pinned her down and performed rough, painful oral sex on her. They did not talk about that.

Cypress knew, of course, having been bitten and scratched himself a few times. But he never talked about it, presumably trying to keep the peace. The secrets were beginning to seriously piss Dana off. Between Minerva's passive-aggressive behavior and Cypress' inability to talk, Dana wanted to just bonk their heads together.

'Shit,' she thought. 'All this... it's based off the basic assumption that Dominic is my mate. Is he? It sure as hell must look that way to Minerva, or she wouldn't be doing this. I think. Anyway, Cypress will probably try to tell me about it later, stumbling over his words like a pussy. And that bitch Minerva is going to deny it left and right until she breaks down and either attacks me or starts crying, or both. Fucking horny little-' she cut herself off, because Minerva might hear. 'Jirachi,' she thought, 'I'm letting my feelings get way out of control here. What does it say about me?'

She had already started to correctly assume that despite her best efforts, she was playing Minerva's game.

* * *

And so was Cypress, some time later. Dana had gone to her first daily meeting with Celia, and she had brought along one of the lab's Kadabra to assist her, sending Minerva to reorganize the file cabinets, and suggesting Cypress go help her. They were both well aware that because Minerva could have the cabinets done in about ten seconds, this was Dana's subtle way of telling them both to go fuck off.

Cypress did not want to be in the same room as Minerva, and she knew it, so when he ducked off to the break room at his first opportunity, Minerva quietly followed him. He was drawing off some more coffee when he heard the door click shut behind him, and it took no genius to know what was coming next. He set down his cup and relaxed his body, preparing to be seized by her power, but the attack never came. Instead she turned the lock on the door and sauntered up to him, pulling herself close and resting her chin on his chest.

"You know this can't continue," Cypress said, biting back his anger.

"Oh, but it will, _,iDom,/i" _she said, caressing his name with her voice.

"No, it won't. You know it will hurt Dana, it has to stop."

She smiled in a way that he would have called innocent in any other situation. "No, it won't. You can't read her mind. I can. Let me show you what she really wants." With that, pictures flashed in his mind - pictures of himself, Minerva and Dana engaged in a wild sexual encounter.

"You're wrong," he said, carefully suppressing how much the thought had enticed him. "She thinks there's something wrong with you, and she wants to help you."

After it left his mouth, he realized that was the worst comment he could have possibly made. Her face turned furious, and she threw him into a chair, pinning him. She stormed up to him and straddled him, and Cypress was vividly reminded of what had occurred in this very chair yesterday. She kissed him forcefully and raked her claws across his chest.

"You love me," she growled. "I know you do. Why can't you just let it happen!"

Cypress' mouth was still free, and he struggled to speak. "You're a Pokemon, this can't happen."

_i"Why the fuck not?"/i_ she screeched, and a pulse of power shook the room, flickering the lights and shattering the coffeepot. "You're MINE, you understand? Both of you are mine! You can keep doing it, fine, but I won't be denied, not again!" She was snarling and crying and Cypress was on the verge of panic. She could easily snap his spine in a fit of anger, or even pin him down and have her way with him. His heart began beating furiously as he realized she had chosen the latter option. His breath came in short gasps as she began to remove his pants.

'Man up,' he thought to himself. 'This won't hurt you like it would a woman, or if a man was attacking you. Just tune it out.' He tried, but Minerva was invading his mind, finding out the exact locations of the spots he liked to have touched and the specifics of what drove him crazy. He began to shiver uncontrollably, and his breath quickened so much that the corners of his vision darkened. He hoped he would pass out, but Minerva would have none of it.

"Relax, love," she said quietly, breathing gently on his ear to simulate a real whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to make you give in to your love for me." She kissed his neck, nibbling slightly, and ran her tongue along the ball joint and the end of his collarbone. As she knew, it was exciting him. He did his best to shut it out, and sensing this she changed tack. She freed his mouth from paralysis and kissed him deeply. He tried not to respond but she used her power to loosen his lips so she could force her tongue into his mouth. She was either very good or she was doing something to highten the sensation, because the feeling was fantastic.

"Not enough," she said quietly. "I'll help you." What he saw before him began to change and warp, and in an instant Dana was sitting on his lap, smiling deviously.

"Better?" came Minerva's voice from Dana's lips. "I can be anyone you want." She changed again into one of his graduate students, a pretty girl from Sevii. "I can be anyone, and I'll do anything." His vision changed again and now his grad student was naked and so was he, and she was sitting on his lap facing away from him and she was leaning back, kissing the side of his head while her lightly colored hair draped over him. Her flawless chestnut skin glistened with sweat and her hips moved smoothly, coaxing him toward orgasm. Then reality changed again and Dana was bent over in front of him and he had her by the hips and he was giving her all he was worth. He rammed his hips into her, and a moment later his dick had slipped out and found its way into her anus, which had never happened in real life, and Dana cried out for more as he explored the new territory. Then it changed again and she was Minerva again but she was sucking him off more enthusiastically than anyone ever had. She then jumped up and he was in the chair again and she was riding him wildly, shrieking with pleasure whenever her lips weren't pressed to his. Her vagina was slick and warm, and there was a tugging near the head of his dick that was driving him crazy. He remembered that Gardevoir had a muscular sphincter near the cervix used in egg laying, and she was using it on him to magnificent effect.

"See?" she said. "You have to love me, because I can be everything you want. How does Dana even come close?"

She had gone too far. A curious tingling filled Cypress' head, almost like the feeling of a limb fallen asleep.

"I love Dana," he growled, "and Dana doesn't want this to happen."

She scowled. "But you do. So let it happen already!"

"No!"

"Why can't you just take what you want!"

"Because the two of you come before me!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU BOTH!" His vision went temporarily black, and suddenly he was standing. Minerva had been thrown onto the floor. He stormed over to her, and grabbed her by the upper arm. She tried to use her psychic power on him, but it didn't work. After a moment's tense pause, he slapped her roundly across the face.

"Dana and I love you, and we love each other," he said, each syllable shaking under the weight of his rage, "and what we have is complicated. And going behind her back is not the answer." He was still trembling, and he thought he might have come in his pants. He blinked tears from his vision, and Minerva was also trembling and crying.

"I'm sorry, Dom," she said meekly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he said quietly.

For a long while after that, they sat quietly and held each other.

* * *

"The thing about the barriers is that only we can cross them," Haegr said. Marcus had been laid up for days, confined to a hospital bed while his nanites were replaced with Northern Star variants. All citizens were injected at birth with nanomachines that fought disease and repaired injury. To prevent unleashing a plague in the event Ranek's armor was breached, his body was injected with Northern Star nanites which killed his normal nanites, along with all the bacteria in his body. The new nanites would take the place of his gut symbionts so that they could not escape into the atmosphere of Hielodar, and the nanites themselves would die if they got more than an inch from their host's body.

This was an ingenious plan, but the nanite replacement therapy itself was nothing short of torture. For three days grey goo had seeped from every opening on his body, including his pores. His skin was covered at all times with a combination of sweat and grey film, and he suffered from a very high fever. Haegr had sat by him nearly the whole time, rattling on about how deployment off-planet would work. Marcus hadn't been able to speak long enough to tell him he didn't care.

"Only we with the Gift can cross these barriers. The thing is, we still have to take the psychics with us, and they have to be tuned in to the planet's psychic field for clear pictures. So here's how it works - the Northern Star is too large to land. It stays up in space, flown by a computer, at all times. It has a shuttle, New Moon, which takes passengers to and from. New Moon also has a device that we can focus our minds into to create a shield bubble, like a tiny version of what encloses the planets, that allows us to bring the psychics through the field. So, that's how we get to Northern Star. The shuttle docks with NS and we're on our way. We'll stop on the way at Pyrus to get you trained on the ground, and then we hit Hielodar. We head for the ground in the shuttle, while the ship lowers a psychic antenna on a miles-long cable right through the barrier. The antenna is hooked up to a series of seats in which our psychics can sit and get readings as though they were right there where the antenna is."

Marcus gasped slightly as he suddenly became entirely too hot. He threw off his blanket and was shocked at the sight of his own body. Where there had once been a naked chest and a slight paunch, there was now a sheet of rippling muscles and a heavy dusting of dark chest hair. Haegr seemed amused at his reaction. He glanced at the EKG next to Ranek's bed and smiled.

"Looks like you're done cooking," he said. "You're fever's breaking. You want to know something funny?" Marcus was still unable to talk, so Haegr went on. "The nanites don't have to cause a fever. It's something they artificially induce. The fever breaks when the process is complete. That's all it is - a timer." Marcus groaned loudly, and Haegr chuckled, lifting a bottle of water to Marcus' mouth. After drinking the entire bottle, Marcus was surprised to find his head completely cleared and his strength fully returned, which he announced to Haegr.

"Your strength isn't all the way back. You're about twice as strong as you were before the treatment. It'll come rushing to you soon." Haegr leaned back in his chair to look out the doorway. He quickly leaned forward and whispered "Get in the shower. Quick!"

Marcus stumbled to his feet and into the bathroom to get rid of the grey film that clung to him. Almost as soon as he shut the door, he heard Asenath's muffled voice on the other side. He would have to remember to thank Haegr. Shortly afterwards, he heard what sounded like the voices of Culexus and Eversor. His hearing, he noted, was significantly more acute. The group talked for a few minutes as he showered off, and after five minutes the room was quiet. Ranek wrapped a towel around himself and walked out into the room. The door was closed, and Asenath was seated on the bed.

"That's a hell of a new look for you," she said sunnily.

"Uh... yeah," Marcus responded, immediately wishing he had something less stupid to respond with.

"I like it," she said, eyeing him hungrily. "So, you're fully recovered?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Haegr didn't say anything about taking it easy, did he? Anything about avoiding exertion?"

"He said I'm a lot stonger than I was before, and it should come pretty quickly."

Asenath sidled up to him and ran her hands across his chest. "I don't want to hear anything about coming quickly..."

He snorted. "So far, you've been mostly talk."

She feigned offense. "How dare you, sir? I'll have you know I'm absolutely sincere!"

"I hardly know you," he said quietly. "Why are we so attracted to each other, anyway?"

"It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I'm smoking hot, and you're a manly beast," Asenath said with a sly smile, "but maybe if we get to know each other, we'll figure it out." With that, she shoved him toward the bed. "Let's get to know each other right now. Really well."

Marcus had just started to remove her robes when she jolted upright. "Damn... Dad's onto us. We'll have to save this for another time."

Marcus groaned. "Please tell me he's not going to be on the ship with us."

"Nah, he'll stay here with the Emperor."

"Good. I hope you're not all talk, because when we're on that ship, I'm putting you to the test."

"No worries. Come on, it's time to get your armor checked," she said. She led him out of the room, waving her hips as she went.

* * *

"Just hold still while it runs," came Eversor's voice. Marcus stood on a small platform in the middle of a room full of heavy, whirring machinery. He was clad only in a skin-tight body glove, the only garment that would fit underneath his powered armor, which the machines around him were preparing to assemble. Along the wall was a bank of windows though which Eversor, Emendi, Haegr, Culexus and Asenath were watching. A large metal frame slid into place around him, and four robotic arms reached out from various parts of the room to seize his limbs. Marcus cried out as the arms shoved his hands and feet into the metal frame. He was now suspended uncomfortably by his hands and feet.

"It'll be done shortly. Just relax," Emendi called out to him through the room's loudspeaker. The machine pulled a balaclava over Marcus' head, securing his long hair, and set to work assembling individual pieces of his armor on his body. Large grey pieces clanked into place around him. First came the inner chestplate, then the shoulder under-armor and inner belt. Then, a large waist guard and codpiece were attached, and this was linked to a large outer chestplate and upper arm and leg plates, after which greaves and vambraces were attached.

The frame released him at last, and he saw that it had attached similarly designed gauntlets and sabatons. Getting a full picture at last, he realized just how gigantic the armor was - at least three feet wide at the shoulder, and probably seven feet tall. The robotic arms seized his shoulders, and a large circular plate that covered his chin was assembled. On top of that, a slightly pointed upper helm was connected, covering most of his skull. As a respirator assembly slid into place from his chin piece to connect to his face, all that was left exposed were his eyes.

"Beginning electrical systems test," said Eversor. With that, two metal wings on his helmet slid down into place, and his helmet was atmospherically sealed. There was no visor - the inside of the helmet was completely dark.

For a terrifying moment, Marcus could not move at all, and all stimuli were cut off. He was trapped inside a pitch-black suit of armor, unable to even hear his own breathing. Then, the suit activated.

There was a soft mechanical whirring, and suddenly he could see again, as though his helmet had vanished. It took him a moment to realize the entire inside of his helmet was a video screen, calibrated to where he could focus on it as close as it was. His respirator activated, and cool, clean, slightly humid air flowed onto his face. Words and numbers flashed across Marcus' vision faster than he could read them, and he saw orange boxes appear around the people watching him, with small readouts indicating how far away they were.

Small indicators flashed through the corners of his vision. Most of them were gone too fast to catch, but he saw glimpses of things like "O2," "TOX," "AMMUNITION," and "SHIELDS," as well as the universal symbol for radiation.

In the middle of his vision, "MASTER LOCK TOGGLE" appeared in red.

"Ranek!" called Eversor. "Do you see some words in the middle of your helmet?"

"Yeah," he replied, his voice sounding unfamiliar in the confines of the helmet.

"Look at the words, and blink your eyes twice."

Marcus did so, and the words disappeared. He promptly fell over on his back.

A great gale of laughter came out of the loudspeakers, and Eversor said "Guess I should have warned you that that would put the suit under your control. Go on, try it out."

Marcus stood, and the machines withdrew their arms almost reverently. He moved a bit and found the suit to be highly responsive and comfortable, more like a tight-fitting garment than the bulky knight's armor he had been expecting.

"Alright, Ranek, tense both your biceps at the same time without moving them."

Marcus followed the order, and a circle appeared in the middle of his vision, surrounded by small icons.

"Use your left wrist to rotate the focus of the menu," Eversor said, and Marcus rotated his wrist at the joint. As he did, the each icon swelled and shrank in turn. When they were selected, the icons printed out small descriptions of their function.

"When you've got one selected, release the tension on your biceps to activate it."

Marcus found an interesting-looking one: STRENGTH ENHANCE. He activated it.

"So? How does it feel?"

Marcus had barely opened his mouth when he took a step forward and got thrown tumbling by the force of his own foot.

"There will be plenty of time to get it figured out," Eversor said flatly amid another gale of laughter.

* * *

_iClank./i_

Cypress lifted his head, which had been resting against Minerva's for some time. The noise was unmistakably that of the heavy stairwell door slamming shut. The outer door of the building required a passcode to open, so no unauthorized people should have been able to enter. Cypress had a funny feeling, though, and judging by the way Minerva had perked up, so did she. They stood and unlocked the break room door, and Cypress stuck his head out to see the blond man who had been following them. Did he work here? Cypress could not remember. As it was, why had he waited so long to enter the building? And what was the purpose of the strange fixture on the man's head? He was wearing some sort of black circlet that didn't seem to be a fashion statement of any kind.

"Minerva," he whispered, "can you tell what that guy's thinking?"

"Yeah," she replied, "give me a sec - wait, something's wrong." She shook her head slightly. "No. No, I can't tell what he's thinking. That's weird, it's like he's not even registering somehow."

Cypress was puzzled, and quite concerned. "Follow me. Stay quiet." They slipped out of the room, with Minerva following Cypress close. They stayed a stealthy distance from him, following him around a corner and into the wing of the building housing the mirrored-glass interview rooms. The man stopped abruptly, and Cypress and Minerva slid into a broom closet in the nick of time. Peeking out again, Cypress saw the man more closely. He was no man at all - more of a kid, probably nineteen or so, with his blond hair closely cut and his goatee inexpertly done. He carried a backpack and wore the traditional Trainer garb - a generic shirt and hiking vest with durable cargo pants and a hat, in this kid's case a beret. Beneath the hat was the strange black circlet Cypress had noticed earlier - it was almost like a tiara.

"Dom," came Minerva's psychic whisper. "Dana, Loki, and Celia are in that room." Cypress suddenly had a strong suspicion as to the man's identity.

"Can you get a warning out to Dana and Loki?"

"Yeah... hang on." Minerva closed her eyes in deep thought, and gasped sharply, clutching her temples. "There's something wrong. Something's creating interference."

"Have you ever experienced psychic interference before?"

"Sometimes, when especially powerful Dark or Ghost types are around, they can cause problems," she said, "but there's never been a blackout this complete. Surely Loki feels something." Loki was the Kadabra assisting Dana in the interview, and Minerva's coworker.

'Enough fooling around,' Cypress thought, and started out toward the young man, with Minerva frantically trying to stop him.

"You there," Cypress started, "do you have authorization-" The rest of Cypress' sentence was silenced by a high kick to the side of the head that knocked him flat. Cypress struggled to stand up as stars flashed in his vision. Minerva promptly fired a Psybeam, and was stunned to see it had no apparent effect. The young man used Minerva's pause to strike her hard on the nose, causing her to fall over. Cypress began to see red; it had little to do with his injury. He leapt up and threw a punch, which the man dove under to deliver a retort to Cypress' ribs. Cypress leapt a yard backwards and threw another heavy punch which the man deflected outward; Cypress then turned his punch into a back fist, which the man caught, and then used the leverage to throw Cypress over his shoulder and onto the ground. Cypress was back up immediately, and threw some Seviian martial arts into the mix. Kicking his foot against the wall, Cypress propelled himself into the air back at the man. He landed with his legs on the man's shoulders wrapped around his head. Leaning his weight back, Cypress extended his arms and still clutching the man's head with his legs pulled a complete backflip, touching his hands to the floor and throwing the man over his own body. The man landed hard on his back and Cypress landed on top of the him, whereupon he began mercilessly beating him. The young man would not be beaten that easily, though - he reached up with his legs and grabbed Cypress in a sleeper hold, pinning him on his back and slowly strangling him. Cypress began to see grey, but then Minerva reappeared with her talons extended, furiously clawing at the man's eyes. She did little damage, and the man swatted her away easily, but it gave Cypress enough time to get back to his feet. It was at this moment Cypress realized there was something seriously wrong.

The other man was already on his feet as well, and he had seized Minerva by the throat. She should have been able to snap his neck, but her powers didn't seem to work at all around him, and Cypress began to suspect the circlet. In addition, this man was entirely too strong to be completely real. He must have been using some kind of enhancing drugs. By the time Cypress had made it to his feet, the other man had pinned Minerva to a wall and thoroughly beaten her face and chest. He made to charge at the man, Cypress fought as best he could but the man was just too fast. By the time Cypress had processed the possibility that the man was on drugs, he had already grabbed Cypress by the throat and thrown him violently through the mirrored glass into the interview room and onto the table at which Dana, Loki, and Celia were seated. Cypress' desperate eyes met briefly with Dana's shocked ones before the man was upon him again, picking him up by the throat and waist and throwing him violently down on the table, collapsing it. Loki had already responded with a supercharged Confusion attack, which predictably did nothing. Loki was rewarded with a telling kick to the chest, which brought him to his knees. The man began to advance on Celia, who was wailing and cowering and obviously already knew that psychic powers wouldn't work. Loki tried to interpose himself between the attacker and Celia, but was swatted aside with a back fist. The attacker at last grabbed Celia by the upper arm.

"We're going home, baby," he sputtered through gritted teeth. "We're going home, and it'll just be you and me." Before he could turn to leave, he stopped to feel the large knife Dana had just planted in his ribs.

His hand caressed the handle briefly, and Cypress had just gotten back up, broken and bleeding, when the man astonishingly just pulled the knife out. Dropping Celia momentarily, he leapt toward Cypress with staggering speed, ignoring Dana completely. He knocked Cypress onto his back and landed on top of him, and so began a desperate struggle to plunge or deflect the knife.

"Dana!" Cypress growled with an edge of panic. "Get everyone... out of here!" The knife edged closer and closer to Cypress' chest, and he though he fought like hell unleashed, he was slowly, inexorably losing. The knife crept closer and closer until it began to slowly, hideously penetrate the skin between his throat and collarbone.

Cypress was on the verge of resigning himself to the end when Minerva tackled the man in the side, throwing him off of Cypress. Cypress was unable to move for a moment, and in that moment the man had already backhanded Minerva once again and started back toward Cypress.

"Enough," Cypress said in a low voice. The man reached down and seized Cypress' leg just as Cypress grabbed a broken table leg from the floor. As the man dragged Cypress back for more punishment, Cypress attacked with the wooden dowel, beating the man viciously around the head. He was able to stun the man long enough to reach out and take hold of the man's arm. Using the leverage of his arm, Cypress threw the man onto the floor face down, whereupon he leapt onto the man's back and seized the man's head and chin in his hands. With a sudden, brutal snap, the fight was over.

Cypress stood, and took a moment to pocket the black head appliance - it would not do to have it locked uselessly in a police station. He would have to examine it. A moment later, he was suprised to realize that the knife was still lodged a couple inches deep in his chest.

He reached up and numbly took the handle of the knife, and in a quick jerk that caused him no pain, he pulled it out and dropped it. The cut bled heavily, but he had no difficulty drawing breath, and he assumed there was no lung damage. Darkness ate at the edges of his vision, and the pain his body had suppressed began to wash over him. He looked up and saw Minerva, flat on her back with her arms splayed. Her mouth hung slightly open, with a trickle of blood running out of one corner. One of her eyes had filled with blood and was swelling shut, but the other one was wide open and fixed on him. Through their psychic link Cypress could distantly feel waves of her emotions: shock, terror, and revulsion. It was all centered on him.

He tried to work out why as a researcher he had forgotten the name of swept into the room with a Hypno and a Medicham at his sides. The Hypno laid Cypress down gently and warned him not to move, and assured him he would be fine. Cypress fought, trying to reach Minerva, but was held down firmly.

As the severity of his injuries finally caught up with him, Cypress realized what the issue was. He was able to put things into the back of his mind to prevent a mind-reader finding out about them from a casual peek. However, when he had finished his attacker, it had brought back a significant group of memories out of shadow, and Minerva had seen them.

The man laying on the floor was not the first Cypress had killed.

* * *

"So... uh, when's the countdown?"

"There is none," said Bellatrix, eldest of the Northern Star psychics. Her long hair hung sideways out from her head, and she was in the process of tying it. "It's unnecessarily stressful on passengers. We just go."

"That's... that's great," Marcus choked out, his mouth cotton-dry, the restraint harness digging into his shoulder as gravity tried to pull him sideways out of the seat. He shut his eyes tightly.

"Relax, kid," Haegr said calmly - of course, his calmest voice was a booming baritone that filled the entire crew cabin of the shuttle. "It's smoother than a mag-rail."

"I had trouble my first time," came a wine-smooth voice to Ranek's right. He turned and was surprised to see it was Emendi. He had never heard the man speak before.

"Alright," Eversor said sharply, suspended above them at the control seat. The control seat was facing backwards toward the cabin, and therefore Eversor was suspended high in the air, relatively. "We're on a timetable here. Bellatrix!"

"Ready," she said offhandedly.

"Hera!"

"I am prepared," said a slender, dark-skinned psychic with very short black hair. Her dark eyes flashed at Marcus briefly before closing, and she looked as though she had immediately fallen asleep.

"Lunaril!"

"Light 'er up," said a short, blonde psychic. She was extremely comfortable-looking, as though she had found a way to recline in the heavy launch harness.

"Sestus!"

"Let us off," the visibly old man said. Marcus had met him briefly, and had it from Haegr that he knew the dirtiest jokes to ever exist, and was fond of telling them in the company of the warriors. That aside, he was as kindly and peaceful as any grandfather.

"Culexus!"

Asenath looked briefly about for her father, and then turned red. "Uh... I'm ready."

Eversor smiled slightly. "We'll go with your first name. Emendi!"

Emendi responded without opening his mouth or eyes. Instead, he coolly pointed his index finger out of the front windscreen of the shuttle and at the sky. At this point, the entire ship began to rumble and shake, and Marcus felt a strong urge to vomit.

"Haegr!"

"Start your engines!" Haegr said spiritedly.

"Ranek!"

Marcus nearly choked on his own tongue; after a moment, he managed to force a raspy "ready" out.

"Launch control, this is New Moon," Eversor said as his seat rotated and pushed him up to the controls of the ship. "The family's all buckled in, and we're off on your go." With that, the passenger seats, which had been facing toward each other, all rotated at once and locked in place to face the front of the ship.

There was no warning, except that the shuttle's engines went from a low rumble to a wild, howling roar. Marcus could see a trace of the launch gantry out of Eversor's window, and a second later it was gone. He clenched his eyes shut, for how long he did not know. When he opened them again, the sky that had previously been gold with the sunrise was now the faded purple of nightfall. He could see no stars. He had never felt the tug of acceleration beyond the weight of his own body.

"That's because the shuttle accelerates so slowly," Sestus' voice said inside his mind.

"I thought you people couldn't mess with my mind anymore," Marcus said aloud, breaking the long silence that had bathed the shuttle.

Eversor chuckled slightly. "They can't mess with the minds of those of us who have mastered it," he said. "You, they could make to sit up and beg." At this, Marcus caught Asenath's eye, and she gave him a look that needed no mental pictures to enhance it.

* * *

The docking process in which New Moon became part of the interplanetary Northern Star took an entire two hours. Finally, they were allowed to detach their harnesses and exit the hatch, which had connected itself to Northern Star's airlock. They ducked their heads slightly to get through the door, and what Marcus beheld left him thoroughly unimpressed. The interior of the ship was composed of long hallways with doors that led to rooms of all functions but mostly uniform size. It was like a generic building, save that it was in space and the walls seemed rather cluttered with exposed cabling and various electrical pathways and routing nodes.

"Mind the stuff on the walls, you'll get hung up on it," Bellatrix warned him as they filed on board. Everyone seemed to know exactly where to go, with some of them entering rooms within sight range. It was exactly like arriving at a hotel. "The stuff on the walls is exposed so that you have something to hold onto while we're at zero-G. Anyway, your quarters are right down the way there, next to Asenath's." With that, she swept off down the hall, gesturing vaguely at their rooms as she passed them.

"Right next to each other," Asenath purred. "Let's go get settled in." She pulled him by the collar to her room, and she was about to pull him in when Eversor appeared from nowhere and grabbed Marcus' shoulder.

"Come on, kid, we've got to..." he stopped. He released Ranek, and with a knowing look at the pair of them, he said "In three hours, report to the lower deck to get your weapons synchronized with your suit. Three hours." He then turned and walked off, and Asenath pulled Ranek into her quarters.

She began to shower him with light, flirtatious kisses. "Finally, I have you all to myself." She began to disrobe, and she was expecting him to grab or bite her. What she was not expecting was the soft, dulcet kiss he planted on her forehead. She smiled widely, and before enthusiastically proceeding as they would, they simply held each other for a moment.

_End of Part One: Unexplained Phenomena_


End file.
